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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038303">Queer by the Quinoa</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAreMassive/pseuds/StarsAreMassive'>StarsAreMassive</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gallavich tumblr prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempted harbouring of a fugitive, Ian still has no chill, M/M, Mellower Mickey, Post-Mexico AU, Reunions, lots of swearing, obviously</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:47:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038303</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAreMassive/pseuds/StarsAreMassive</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>tan666tan asked: <br/>So saw you accepted prompts and I had this wierd crack fic idea, mickey come back from mexico like 15/20 years later (legally) and ian just bought back the old family house and both of them see each other again in the middle of the kash n grab, you know those like sweet tooth rotten fluff fic 😂</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gallavich tumblr prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>107</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Queer by the Quinoa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A short oneshot from a prompt I received on tumblr.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="note_wrapper">
  <p></p>
  <div class="note_item">
    <p></p>
    <div class="text">
      <p> </p>
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</div><div class="answer post_info note_reblog">
  <p></p>
  <div class="reblog-list-item contributed-content">
    <p></p>
    <div class="reblog-header">
      <p>Mickey didn’t know what he’d expected. It had been nearly thirteen years since he’d stepped foot in the Southside of Chicago, but in his mind it hadn’t changed one single bit. Not the mangy black and white dog that strolled the neighbourhood and pissed on fences – and Frank, or the streets littered with trash – and Frank. But the streets he’d returned to weren’t the same place at all.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="reblog-content">
      <p>It looked like gentrification, which had been threatening Southside when Mickey was sent to the slammer, had well and truly caught up with the place. The houses were nicer. There were more fences around little gardens and they weren’t broken. And there were way, way more skinny jeans than he ever remembered seeing on his fellow Chicagoans.</p>
      <p>When the feds had taken his deal, there wasn’t a doubt in Mickey’s mind that he was going home. The tattoo on his forearm was a constant reminder of where he came from, where he belonged. Chicago summers might have been a bitch, but it was better than picking sand outta your ass in Mexico.</p>
      <p>And he really, really missed being able to cuss someone out in English.  </p>
      <p>So here he was, breathing in the far cleaner air, and listening to the sounds of the streets as he strolled along. Gone were the days when it was cars backfiring, and people screaming and fighting all over the neighbourhood. He could actually hear little kids laughing, the shitty little buzz of vespas driving around, and a distinct lack of gunshots.</p>
      <p>That last one he could live with. He’d been shot enough times in this city, thank you very fuckin’ much. It was bad enough that he was willingly returning to one of the many, many places he’d had to bite a bullet.</p>
      <p>Walking down the street, the Kash N Grab finally came into view. Or, at least, it should’ve. But instead of the dirty, peeling awning and shitty vinyls and yellowing paper in the windows, Mickey came face to face with a red brick, glass fronted building, proudly boasting <em>Fresh N Go!</em></p>
      <p>This is what happened when he left this town. Wholefoods had come for the Southside.</p>
      <p>Well, he very much doubted he’d get the pringles he was looking for in there, but morbid curiosity drove Mickey’s feet forward, and a tinkling bell announced his presence to the weirdly busy store for a Tuesday afternoon.</p>
      <p>The walls were lined with produce: clear containers of nuts, cereals and other shit, with a poster saying <em>Refill station. Bring your own container! </em>Behind the counter, where the cigarettes were normally kept, were lines of tiny little pots with plants growing out them. Each for the bargain price of $3, apparently. There were fruit and vegetables everywhere, and at least eight different types of water that Mickey could see.<em> Eight. </em>The little bakery stand with plates of free samples did nothing to make up for that shit.</p>
      <p>There was nothing that looked even remotely like the convenience store he used to rob and sometimes worked in. Hell, he’d have to scrunch up his eyes and focus real hard to even imaging Linda going off and screaming at him –</p>
      <p>
        <em>“Mickey?”</em>
      </p>
      <p>Well. That sure as shit wasn’t Linda.</p>
      <p>Mickey’s eyes snapped open, and there in all his red-headed glory stood Ian Gallagher.</p>
      <p>Now, Mickey had long ago let go of any resentment he’d had towards Gallagher. He understood why he didn’t take that final step and cross the border with him. He’d hated him for it for years, but he understood. Eventually, as time went on and the edges of their memories together started to dull, he liked the warm feeling he got the odd time he’d think about that Irish-American boy that near drove him out of his mind.</p>
      <p>So standing there and seeing Ian in front of him, Mickey was glad that none of that old resentment came rolling back. He was actually <em>pleased</em>.</p>
      <p>Mickey smirked as Ian gaped at him. “Gallagher.”</p>
      <p>“What the fuck?” and Ian whispered it, like Mickey wasn’t meant to hear, but he sure did and let out a chuckle. He hadn’t exactly thought to fill his old flame in on his new status as a free man. Shit, he didn’t think he’d be around here anymore.</p>
      <p>But then Ian dropped his basket, catching the eye of a few of the local shoppers, and hooked Mickey by the collar. The older man was dragged outside, and into a familiar alleyway, with Ian consciously keeping himself at Mickey’s back, trying to shield him from view.</p>
      <p>“For fuck – what the fuck are you doing?” Mickey complained.</p>
      <p>“What am I doing? You’re a fugitive Mickey! You can’t just go walking into a wholefoods in your old neighbourhood, like some yuppie. What are you doing here?!”</p>
      <p>And Mickey was oddly touched. They hadn’t seen each other in years – well over a decade – but Ian was still covering his back without a second’s hesitation.</p>
      <p>“Yeah, I think I can chance it, Ned Kelly. Ease up, man.”</p>
      <p>Ian took a few seconds to remember the exact teasing tone Mickey used when he was amused. The little sparkle in his eye and the smile tugging at his lips made him stop and consider.</p>
      <p>“Are you -” Ian licked his lips. “Are you okay? Is everything okay? Are you…”</p>
      <p>“Free?” Mickey finished for him. “As a goddamn bird, Gallagher.”</p>
      <p>And Ian looked at him the same way he did when he pulled that bag off his head after being dumped out the van when Mickey escaped prison. Mickey wasn’t going to lie – he kinda liked it. Gallagher looked better with age but he still smelled the damn same.</p>
      <p>“Holy fuck.”</p>
      <p>Mickey rubbed his mouth and agreed. Holy fuck was right. Some days he didn’t believe it himself and still dodged anything in uniform like the plague.</p>
      <p>“So uh, you work here?” he asked the younger man.</p>
      <p>Ian screwed up his face. “What in wholefoods? Fuck no. I don’t even know what quinoa is. I thought it was a band.”</p>
      <p>And Mickey full belly laughed and Ian forgot how much that sounds turned him into a big, useless, puddle of goo.</p>
      <p>“You still live here though?” Mickey asked. “I woulda thought you’d have left when you could.”</p>
      <p>Ian shrugged. “Some shit went down and the kids needed me. Fiona left. Lip had a kid, got married, and moved down the street. Someone had to look after Liam, help Debbie with Franny – at least try to kick Carl’s ass towards some semblance of a future.”</p>
      <p>Mickey grinned. “Yeah? How’s that goin’ for ya?”</p>
      <p>“Hey, he wants to be a cop now.”</p>
      <p>“What the fuck? Your deviant little drug dealin’ brother? He wants to be a cop?”</p>
      <p>“Mhmm. So watch yourself,” Ian teased.</p>
      <p>Mickey held up his hands in mock surrender and let himself enjoy just for a second how easy this was. Terry was gone. Their pasts were behind them. They could talk now, like two normal, adjusted adults.</p>
      <p>And then Ian got that look in his eye that usually had Mickey doing stupid shit in the name of Gallagher.</p>
      <p>“So, I bought the house. Spent a small fortune fixing it up. You should um…if you don’t need to rush out of town or anything. You should come by. Come see it.”</p>
      <p>“Yeah man,” Mickey heard himself say. “I’m here to stay. I’ll come by.”</p>
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